A pair bright of eyes look into mine.
—I’ve missed eating you out.
—Really? Since when?
—Since… the very instant I stopped eating you out the last time.
Talk about the right answer. I’m such a sucker for words. You’d think once action is available, I’d ditch words. Not the case.
We’re by the river. The south bank is really dark, even if it never had the lightbulbs stolen, like the north one. It never had street lights: it’s just a path by the trees, the canes, and the water.
It’s two AM, maybe, the city is gone, the moon is nowhere to be seen, but in front of me shine the three lights of Orion’s belt, like the three times we’ve moved the car and been followed by this guy on a bike.
An outline in the night, by the light of our brakes he’s a black guy on a red bike, with a goatee, shorts and flip-flops. I’m confused as to what he wants. Is he expecting us to invite him over? Or just hoping to get a view of the action? At one point, I think I can see the stranger jerking off. It’s just the second weirdest encounter I’ve had by a car. The first one was that one with the infantry platoon on night manoeuvres.
—This is my least favourite type of public. I hate that he’s disturbing you —says the porn producer, the sex party organiser.
I wouldn’t mind if we knew him.
At last, he’s gone.
—Did you know you squirt? Here, in my knee.
—Your trouser’s soaked… Teach me how it’s done!
The lesson goes on, like our previous one on cunnilingus with that girl, now an ex.
—Should I learn about squirting too, then? —says my partner the morning after.